


Second Chorus

by idrilsdarkwritings (idrilhadhafang)



Series: The Survival of Jamie Lloyd [2]
Category: Halloween Movies - All Media Types
Genre: Animal Death, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Corpse Desecration, Dysfunctional Family, Grave Robbers, Missing Scene, Multi, Past Child Death, Uncle-Niece Relationship, attempted child murder, no chronological order
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:28:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26887366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idrilhadhafang/pseuds/idrilsdarkwritings
Summary: Scenes from 1989, before, during and after Michael’s third rampage.
Relationships: Jamie Lloyd & Michael Myers
Series: The Survival of Jamie Lloyd [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1961317
Kudos: 4





	1. A Keepsake

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. 
> 
> Author’s Notes: Call it my way of fleshing things out...

To an average person, sneaking a body to the Myers house would have been difficult, but to Michael Myers, it was practically child’s play. 

Carrying Rachel Carruthers’ prone, still bleeding corpse to the Myers house, almost bridal style, quiet and stealthy, was perfect. Some would speculate there was a sexual component to his killings. It was foolish to think so, of course — Michael couldn’t say he saw the appeal of matters of the flesh. The slap of skin against skin...wasn’t it just _revolting_?

He continued into the house. The last time he’d been here, it had looked like any other suburban house; when had it looked like something out of those old horror films that his parents watched on Halloween?

— _sitting in front of the TV set, watching as the 1931 Dracula came on.  
_

_”Michael, kiddo.” Judith’s voice. “Aren’t you gonna have nightmares?”_

_”It’s not a big deal,” little Michael said. “It’s not like it’s_ realistic _, Judy.”_ —

Michael wondered, absently, where that memory had come from. A memory from when he could still talk, without a doubt. Before he simply hadn’t felt the need for it. Shock trauma, some of the nurses at Smith’s Grove had said. Loomis knew better. Loomis was _intelligent_...

He looked around the room in that moment. Where would be the best place to put Rachel Carruthers’ corpse? A place for _someone_ to stumble upon it, if not his dear niece —

He didn’t usually go for children. Little children, that is. It was ironic considering how he was called the Boogeyman, but he would say that teenagers were more his priority than anything else. Teenagers, adults...anyone in his way to his true target. 

He wouldn’t usually go for a now-nine year old girl, but it was part of what he was born to do. Thorn had _rules_. 

The girl was linked to him. Inexplicably. They were bonded, all through a misguided act of compassion she showed him. Children could be like that. Of course, they could be cruel too. 

(He had done Tommy Doyle a favor when he’d scared that insolent little brat that made his pumpkin shatter. Pity that Tommy hadn’t seen it)

There was the matter of the dog he'd killed too. Hang it up, like a trophy? That would work. Everything had to be organized, in its right place, perfect. Maybe if Loomis showed up. 

(Jamie would come to him, but Michael doubted she’d come here, to this fortress of old ghosts)

Putting Rachel in the corner. There was a bit of annoyance, at how she sprayed him with a fire extinguisher and tried to run him over with her car, but she really was just an item to check off on a list. 

There was also the coffin he’d found. Not his first grave robbery, Michael knew that much. Stealing Judy’s headstone — that had been an artistic touch. 

(Pity that others didn’t appreciate his passion, his artistry, his showmanship...)

He set it up. And the picture...

He looked at the photo and there was a moment when he was caught off-guard. His niece, likely six at the time, smiling brightly. It had been before Laurie’s admittedly disappointing death in a car crash...

Michael ran his thumb over the photograph. He had missed many years of Laurie’s life. Jamie didn’t look anything like her mother — she was eerie, almost ghost-like with her long, Rapunzel-like dark hair and brown, almost black eyes. 

Maybe the father had looked like that instead. And Jamie had somehow gotten Michael’s eyes. So brown they were almost black. 

If Michael was able to, he would have smirked in triumph. Right now, he felt at least a twinge of satisfaction that Laurie’s daughter had turned out like him. Dark eyes. A clown costume she’d worn at age eight. 

That capability for bloodlust. 

Laurie might have born her, the child of her body and Thorn-knew-what idiotic oversexed male had impregnated her — but Jamie was Michael’s legacy, through and through. She could have been his child. It was one victory that Michael had over his now-dead younger sister. 

Killing her would be a waste, Michael thought, almost disdainfully as he placed his niece’s picture, a little keepsake, above the coffin he’d dug up. It was an aesthetic touch but maybe there had been something in Michael where he’d wanted to keep it. A magpie hoarding trinkets, perhaps. 

He could look on it at least, long after he had killed Jamie and was free of this rage. 


	2. Shadow Archetype

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The unmasking moment in Halloween 5, in detail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. 
> 
> Author’s Notes: People kind of have issues with that scene, but for me, I think it’s kind of powerful. Especially since Jamie had an encounter with Michael’s evil in Halloween 4; it’s kind of like she’s acknowledging her own darkness. 
> 
> Which is pretty gutsy for a nine-year-old girl. (Goddamn, Jamie Lloyd deserved better)

It was as the knife was coming down, as Jamie was preparing for it to hurt, that she called out, “Uncle?”

A pause. A noticeable one, as the Nightmare Man just stopped the knife in its tracks, seeming to tilt his head at the nine year old girl lying in the coffin — the coffin that could have been her final resting place. 

Her uncle could have killed her but, somehow, didn’t. 

”Boogeyman...” Somehow, Jamie didn’t know if she was risking it, so she decided to switch back to that. 

(Uncle Boogeyman? Uncle Nightmare Man? It seemed appropriate, for the implacable predator that had haunted her nightmares)

He was breathing heavily. Tense. Stopped for the moment. 

And despite herself, Jamie asked if she could see his face. 

Silence. 

Michael removed his mask. It was slow, cautious — Jamie couldn’t see it too well, but she could make out a face that had a similar structure to her mother, Laurie’s. A full mouth. A long nose that somehow didn’t seem awkward. Eyes that were the same shape and color as Jamie’s.

There were burn scars on one side that looked like they were in the process of healing, but he looked so very similar to Jamie. 

It dawned on Jamie that she was almost like her murderous uncle. She thought back to that moment in the costume shop where she swore she saw the boy in the clown costume. She’d lost her voice for some time, while Michael wasn’t getting it back. They’d both hurt someone really badly in clown costumes, though Aunt Judith wasn’t coming back. 

It was something she didn’t like to think about, but here she was. And Uncle Michael...Loomis said that he was a monster, but here, he looked like any other man. 

”You look just like me,” she said softly. 

And then something unexpected happened. She could have sworn that...was that a tear leaking from the boogeyman’s eye?

She should have left him alone. But there was the same pull she felt, to comfort him, to console him. To save him from himself. 

Just like a year ago...

”Let me...”

The boogeyman flinched back, pulled his mask back on and his mask on, and in the midst of the frenzy, stumbling back downstairs (of course she’d run into Loomis, almost unrecognizable with fanatical hate), Jamie realized there wasn’t any coordination to his hate, to his rage. It was like he wasn’t really trying to kill her, at least at the moment. It was like he was unraveling. Coming apart like yarn, and Jamie had watched it. 

She didn’t know whether cold or hot rage from the Boogeyman was more terrifying. 


End file.
